Afraid of Monsters
by MelonMochi
Summary: (on hiatus) Instead of being given the freedom to become an exorcist, one of the Grigori members convinces the court to send Rin to a new rehabilitation center known simply as Elysium.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:** This is my third attempt at this plot. I'm terrible with plot development so don't expect much. I changed a lot of things about society in Elysium and added a new character. Here's hoping it's better than its predecessors.

**Blue Exorcist belongs to Katou Kazue and Co.  
><strong>**Dr. Rascalov, Armand, Asterius, and Torean are original characters.**

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><p>A dagger of light pierced his eyes as he eased open his wooden door and stepped out of the stone confines of his home. He rubbed the slight pain away with the heel of his hand and briefly wondered why he couldn't remember what he had done yesterday.<p>

"Morning, Rin." Someone vaguely familiar pushed off a nearby wall and greeted him with a weary voice. He was a tall, muscular man with two thick, dark brown horns jutting from just above his temples and gently following the curve of his head. His hair was black and short, and his ears were slightly pointed. A long, furry tail wagged behind him. "Let's go get our daily portions."

His stomach grumbled at the mention of food and he eagerly followed the stranger down the narrow, cobble path and into the main plaza. It was smaller than the residential circle and closer to the gate at the front of the village. The very sight of the polished silver made him anxious, and he tried not to look at it as he waited in line with the others. Instead, he watched a few of the residents eat their daily meals by the large, three-tier fountain in the center of the plaza and near the council building in the corner behind it.

It was always busy in the morning when the Exorcists distributed food. Today, his meal was a dried chunk of raw venison no larger than his fist. He sat on the cobbled ground beside his bull-like companion and ate quietly, pulling off the discolored, rotten pieces as he nibbled, savoring the juicy, sour taste. And then, still hungry, he swallowed the rotten bits he picked off.

The minotaur sucked the blood from his fingers and sighed sullenly. "I wish they would hurry up and release Amaimon... It's boring without him."

"What's your name?" he asked suddenly, hoping a name would help him remember who the man was.

"Asterius," he answered simply, not concerned by his unusual question.

"Okay." They didn't speak after that—there was nothing to talk about, anyway.

**. . .**

_Attention. Number three hundred thirty-three: report to the gate._

A few hours later, a voice summoned him to the front of the village. He removed his tags—two misshapen slabs of dull metal that reminded him of his number—and placed them in the tray. An Exorcist on the other side slid it through a perfectly shaped gap under a thick window. He glanced at the tags, typed something into the computer, and opened the gate.

Elysium's gate was four inches of solid metal and coated in silver, (it apparently burned your skin if you touched it, but he was too afraid to test that theory.) It rose slowly, chains and gears groaning loudly as they struggled to lift the heavy, white gate. The sound could be heard throughout the village, even as far back as the bathhouses, echoing eerily off the stone contours of their cave.

His hands were bound behind his back and his ankles were chained together, forcing him to take small, uncomfortable steps. "Follow me." One Exorcist led him through the gate and behind the elevator shaft. Another followed, carrying a big rifle with a scope. The elevator was the only way in and out of the village cave. He craned his neck as he passed it, trying to get a glance at the outside world, but he could only see darkness. The Exorcist behind him chastised him with the butt of his gun and urged him to continue his awkward walk.

He froze when he realized they were guiding him to the White Room. "No!" he cried, stumbling back in a pitiful attempt to get away. The Exorcist with the rifle struck him on the back of his head, making his vision spin, and dragged him by the chains that held his hands together. "No, please! I haven't been bad! I'm a good human! Please, let me go home!" But his pleas were ignored and he was shoved inside. He tripped and fell hard on his face. The door slid shut behind him.

The White Room was exactly that—an utterly white square with a big chair in the center and a drain beneath it. The cracked, brown leather of the chair was worn away in most places, especially the armrests, revealing the stained foam under it that had clearly been clawed at by previous occupants. Water dripped from a green hose dangling from the ceiling, waiting to wash away whatever his body left behind. White boxes—almost invisible against the white walls—brought the offender's screams to the village's speakers, so everyone could hear him being punished.

Because you only went to the White Room if you did something bad.

Most residents were punished for acting demonic—arguing over food and blankets, ignoring rules, killing their neighbors out of boredom. If you were caught murdering or breaking a rule, you were brought to the White Room for a day, punished, and, occasionally, a long, jagged mark would be added to your tags. Three marks meant you would be Released. Only good humans were given a home and a number in Elysium, the bad ones—the demons—were 'Released'—a kind synonym for killed.

But he'd been a good human, hadn't he? He even ate the rotten bits of meat he didn't want!

The automatic locks on his fetters disengaged, allowing him to sit upright. He trembled as he glanced around the pristine room, trying to find something to distract his racing mind—a stain on the floor, maybe. But it was pointless—the White Room didn't have stains.

A few minutes later, the door slid open loudly. Fear and panic exploded within him, and, whimpering, he scrambled into the far corner. He relaxed slightly when he noticed Doctor was alone—no assistants in white, no trolley of medical utensils, no sledgehammer to Release him—just a white clipboard and a matching pen.

Doctor smiled kindly at him and gestured to the chair. "Hello, Rin. Have a seat so we can begin." He glanced between the chair and Doctor suspiciously, legs struggling to keep him standing. "Don't worry," he said gently, trying to ease his fear, "I'm just going to ask you some questions." Hesitantly, carefully, he sat down. "Good. Let's begin." Doctor paused and flipped through his pages. "Have you been sleeping well?"

"Yes, Doctor." He tried to settle into the chair, but its familiar curve against his back, its familiar texture against his fingertips, terrified him. He couldn't stop the tremors that attacked his body.

He nodded and his eyes fell back to the clipboard. "We'll start with something easy: tell me everything you remember."

"Demons are bad," he responded immediately, automatically. "My number is three-three-three," he continued. "I live in ring four. I have a friend named Asterius. I ate all my food this morning," he paused, suddenly drawing a blank. "I... I remember..."

Doctor wrote something on his clipboard. "Anything else?"

His lack of memory didn't bother him before, but, as the reality of his empty past sank in, he began to panic. Why couldn't he remember anything? Why did it take him until _now_ to notice he didn't have any memories of his life? And why did certain things—Asterius, Doctor, the village, the daily portions, the chair, the White Room—seem so familiar to him?

"I... I don't..." His heart pounded hard in his chest and he looked to Doctor for answers, an explanation, _anything_.

Doctor held his terrified gaze and gave him another warm, friendly smile. "Do you remember your name?"

He thought for a moment. "Three-three-three."

"Your name is Rin."

That's right—Asterius called him that this morning. "Rin..." he repeated it softly to himself so he wouldn't forget. A small smile brightened his features.

"Do you remember why you live in Elysium, Rin?"

"Because I'm a good human! Only good humans live in Elysium, right?"

Doctor's smile seemed to change, melting into something dark and sinister and cruel. "You are here because you _are_ a demon-"

The very mention of the word struck fear in him. "No!" his voice was frantic and his breath was ragged. "I'm not a demon! Not a demon! I'm human! _Human_!" He writhed and thrashed against the chair, feeling the leather restraints digging into his flesh, making him bleed. But some part of him knew he wasn't tied down, that the restraints dangled loosely from the chair.

The door opened and an assistant in white rolled a covered trolly in. "Sorry I'm late!" He removed the white tarp, revealing a variety of medical tools neatly arranged on the top. Rin shook his head in disbelief at the sight. "What would you like to start with, Dr. Rascalov?" he asked as he slipped his latex gloves on.

"The new tranquilizer—a 50cc dose." The assistant nodded and picked up a syringe from the trolley, filling it with a dark pink liquid.

Rin screamed.

"Calm down, Rin." Doctor held his arms as the assistant went around to the other side of the chair. "We're going to help you—to get rid of the monster."

"N-No, please... I'm not a monster!" He felt a sharp pain on the back of his neck, and the White Room began to fade. "Yukio... Please help... I'm not..."


	2. Chapter 1

Yukio sat at his desk, his room dark, his eyes staring vacantly at his computer screen, watching the recording of Rin's trial again and again—a nightly ritual he picked up shortly after his brother was taken from him. The video was muted, but he knew every spoken word, every small movement, every tiny sound.

Around the seven minute mark, one of the Grigori members stands up and removes his hood. He was a tall man in his mid-thirties with dark skin and white hair—a stark contrast that easily made him one of the most well-known Exorcists in the region.

Demetri Rascalov was a man of remarkable strength of character, who devoted himself entirely to the study and development of demonic society. (It was rumored that he was the first person to suggest the idea of rehabilitation to the court.) He was head of the Vatican's research team, unbelievably skilled in all five Meisters, and the designer of a new facility called 'Elysium'.

A desolate place Rin now called home.

Dr. Rascalov's words were the first among many that Yukio memorized, and, as he watched the man's mouth move silently on the screen, he spoke them:

"_Shame on all of you—but _you_ most of all, Sir Pheles. Demon or not, the boy that grovels at your feet is nothing more than a child. You would sooner make him a weapon, a killing machine, than let him enjoy his youth. What a monster you are—taking away his only opportunity at a happy life with friends and family to play as a pawn in your selfish games."_

How ironic those words seemed now.

Yukio turned away from the screen to stare sullenly at Rin's empty bed. "Did he give you the life you wanted, nii-san? Are you happy there? Have you made better friends? Have you found a better brother...?"

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><p><strong>. . .<br>Chapter One  
>. . .<strong>

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><p>Rin woke early the next morning, just after Elysium's curfew lifted. Daily portions wouldn't be handed out for another two hours at least, so he contented himself with laying in bed, listening to the distant sounds of the village as its residents began to stir. After about forty minutes, he decided that he had been lazy for long enough, (you were punished if you stayed in bed all day without being sick), and sat up to stretch his legs.<p>

His temples pounded painfully and, as he cradled his head, he suddenly remembered his time in the White Room. He scrambled to his feet, ignoring his blanket as it slipped to the dirty floor, and fumbled for the tags hidden under his shirt. Rin examined them closely, using the light that poured in from his window above his table.

No marks.

He sighed with relief and fell back onto his chair. It was cold and uncomfortable, but he didn't care—he would live to see his next meal. Shivering, he picked up his blanket and covered himself with it.

Rin held up his tags and twirled them around his fingers. The light from the cave's ceiling reflected faintly on their surfaces. Both tags were exactly the same: thin, flat, misshapen pieces of unpolished iron with a blank side for marks, a three digit number scratched on the opposite side, and a long chain to keep them around his neck. He never understood why everyone was given two, nor what their purpose was outside of marks from the White Room and trading.

Slowly pulling himself out of his reverie, Rin considered going to the plaza early in the hopes of getting a good spot in line. He tucked his tags back under his shirt, tossed the blanket on his bed, and stretched his stiff limbs once more before he shoved his door open with a foot.

Almost immediately, he recognized shouts coming from the plaza. He knew what was happening—it happened all the time when the king was gone—and knew there was nothing he could do. The Exorcists would handle it eventually; if he got involved, it would only lead to more time in the White Room.

Rin leaned against the chilly stone of his house and waited for the fight to be broken up. He picked up his tail and gently weaved his fingers through its coarse tuft, working out the tangles and small knots, trying to ignore the cries and cheers as an audible crowd gathered to watch. After a while, he could no longer close his ears to the sound and pushed off the wall. If no one was going to make an attempt to stop them, then _he_ would.

Rin _hated_ it when the residents killed each other.

A thick hand grabbed him just before he stepped onto the stones of the main plaza. "Where are you going, Rin?" It was easier for him to recognize Asterius's gruff voice today and, somehow, he found that comforting.

He could see a crowd gathering in front of him near the fountain, surrounding the fighters, the noise rising as more curious residents emerged from their homes.

Rin turned back to Asterius, a determined expression hardening his features. "Let me go!" He tried to snatch his arm out of the minotaur's grasp, but he was too strong. "I'm going to stop them!"

"No, you're not." He jerked Rin back. "You are going to wait here like everyone else for the Exorcists to deal with it."

He shook his head and pouted defiantly. The Exorcists had promised to protect them from each other and the harsh, outside world. But, down here, Rin knew that promises were shallow things. They were _supposed_ to help them, keep them from hurting each other, but they wouldn't. No one would. Everyone knew this.

"Someone will be dead by then!"

"Then let them die!" His eyes widened at Asterius's response. "It's not worth it, Rin," he continued, softening his voice. "I know how you feel—trust me, I do. But you _can't_ protect everyone."

He gritted his teeth, failing to hide the hurt his words caused him. "_I know that_," he whispered loudly, "but I _have_ to try." He pried his arm out of the minotaur's hand and quickly made his way toward the plaza.

Asterius let him go reluctantly.

Rin shoved his way through the thickening crowd. Some residents were cheering, urging the fighters to shed blood, others were talking quietly, placing bets on how long it would take for the Exorcists to get involved. Their arrogance, their lack of concern, their refusal to stop the fight, to prevent death—all of it made him furious.

Why wasn't anyone doing anything? Why didn't anyone care?

He broke through to the center, seeing the two fighters who were surrounded by the crowd. One of them was a lanky, red-haired thing, with darkening bruises along the left side of his face. His opponent was much larger, with tan skin and black horns. It was painfully obvious who would win if they continued.

"Give them back!" The red-head paused, his breath short and ragged, blood dripping from his nose down to his chin. "Give me back my tags!"

"You _really_ want them?" The other jiggled a pair of tags in front of him, flashing his sharp fangs in a wide, sick grin. "Then come and get them!"

He charged forward, but his injuries made him sluggish, and the horned man expected it. He punched his smaller opponent on the bruised side of his face, knocking the poor boy off his feet, and stomped on him. Rin watched with horror as the larger man _pulled_ on his tail, one foot on his side to keep him from squirming. The boy's agonized scream was almost completely drowned out by the crowd's cheering.

"Stop it!" Rin had seen enough. He rushed into the center, prying the tail out of the man's grasp. "Stop fighting! You'll get us _all_ in trouble!"

He spat in Rin's face, snarling with anger. "You're not the king—I don't have to take orders from you!"

"Get...out of my way..." Rin whirled around, shocked to find the other fighter struggling to push himself to his feet, his left eye swollen shut. "He's right—you can't tell us what to do. Move," his command was weak. "I'm going to _kill_ him!"

He yanked Rin aside and launched himself at his opponent. The horned man easily stopped him and snapped his arm. "No, stop!" Blindly, Rin put himself between the two, determined to end their quarrel.

"You want to die _that_ badly!? Fine!" The large man roared and threw a quick punch.

Rin ducked, dodging the first swing, but wasn't so lucky the second time. A fist slammed into his face and he was thrown back, his body twisting oddly as he fell. He hit the ground hard on his side and skidded to a stop, pain breaking out across his shoulder. He sat up, blinking and shaking his head. The force of the blow had only sent him a few feet away, so he was still in the lopsided ring of cheering residents.

When he regained his senses, the horned man was holding his victim up by his neck, his feet dangling just above the ground. He kicked and dug his claws into the man's wrist, but couldn't break free. His face was turning a terrifying shade of red. "Stop it—you're going to kill him!" Rin scrambled to his feet and grabbed the man's thick arm, trying desperately to loosen his grip. "Let go!"

As if responding to his growing urgency, something slowly began to emerge from its prison in the back of his mind—something he _knew_ was deep-rooted and evil. It heated his body, tingled his skin, begging to be released. He gave in to it, letting it consume him, and was instantly engulfed in a gentle, tickling heat. The sounds of the crowd became muffled and distant, as if he had cotton shoved in his ears, and the pain in his shoulder quickly faded.

"I said _let go_!" He roared, and the fire exploded out, surrounding him in a beautiful, blue light. After a moment, he breathed in sharply, drawing the flames back into his body.

The horned man stared at him with utter shock. During the blast, he had dropped his victim to shield his eyes from the blinding light, but it was still too late. The red-head lay motionless at his feet, his face a pale blue, his dull eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. Rin gazed down at him solemnly, unaware of how quiet the village had suddenly become.

"...M-Monster!" someone screamed. "Demon!" The crowd erupted in a panic. Residents immediately scattered and ran, seeking the dark safety of their homes.

Not even a minute later, Rin was alone in the plaza with the corpse. A few brave, curious creatures lingered by the entrance to the village's residential circle, watching him carefully with wide, fearful eyes.

No... _No_, he wasn't a demon! He was...he was just trying to help...!

Asterius slowly approached him. "Rin? Are you hurt?"

He sniffed loudly, and it took him until now to realize he was crying. "I-I... I'm not a monster... Right, Asterius?" He stepped forward and reached out a hand, if only to reassure himself that not everyone was afraid of him, but the minotaur cringed away.

"Don't..." He averted his gaze, ashamed of his reaction. "You should just go home, Rin."

"A-Asterius?" Rin could feel more tears slipping down his cheeks, hot and unwanted. "Asterius, please..."

He reached out again, but Asterius turned his back to him and walked away.

**. . .**

Dr. Rascalov wasn't joking when he said Elysium's Rehabilitation Center would be a bitch to get to—his entire two-day journey was spent mostly in the air: first a delayed flight from Japan to Italy, followed by a private jet to the Vatican, and finally an extremely uncomfortable helicopter ride to the facility. Bon was glad to be on solid ground again.

After a quick trip through a decontamination chamber, Bon found himself in a strange, monochrome lobby. He expected the facility to be extravagant—and it didn't disappoint—but he didn't expect it to be so...empty.

Well, _almost_ empty.

The only color in the waiting room was another young Exwire, his vibrant, blond hair blinding against all the gray. He was seated comfortably in one of the chairs close to the main door, his luggage waiting on the floor beside him, his blue eyes cemented to the open book resting in his lap. It was obvious he was far too engrossed in whatever he was reading to notice Bon's presence. He turned a page and brushed a lock of his shoulder-length hair behind his ear, but the strands quickly slipped out of place.

Bon stared, suddenly reminded of Rin—the way he would push his hair out of his eyes, the way he blew on his bangs when he was bored, the effusive expression he wore when Bon gave him one of his hairpins...

He shook the painful memories out of his mind and cleared his throat loudly to catch the other Exwire's attention. The boy let out a startled yelp and jumped to his feet, book flying out of his lap. He glanced at Bon, eyes wide, hands clutching his chest. "S-Sorry!" he said quickly. "I didn't mean to scare you."

He frowned and, without responding, picked up his book, smoothed out the bent pages, and sat back down. Bon massaged the back of his neck, embarrassed by the awkward atmosphere he had created. Against his better judgment, he dropped his luggage nearby, sat a few chairs away from the other Exwire, and attempted to start a conversation.

"Are we still waiting for someone?" There were four interns this quarter: two from Japan, (him and Yukio—though Yukio would be arriving sometime next week), and two from the United States.

His mouth turned down at the corners even more and he looked up with a slight glare. "Marie canceled."

Bon flinched, surprised by his lack of courtesy. He sighed and averted his gaze, noticing the pile of books in the chair beside the blond. He knew enough English to read the titles: _A Student's Guide to Demonic Psychology_, _Advance Demonic Biology and Anatomy_, an Exorcist's edition of a medical dictionary, _The Devil Inside Me: A Literary Comparison of Human and Demon Society_...

"You're...not an Exwire, are you?"

His expression softened significantly, making him appear more boyish. "No—I'm here to study under Dr. Rascalov."

"That's a _lot_ of books," Bon mused aloud.

He blushed and turned his attention to the stack. "Is it? I only brought enough for two months..."

"You can read _a dozen books_ in two months!?" Bon's predisposition to studying meant he read more than the average student, but even someone with his regime couldn't read such a tall stack in only eight weeks.

His blush darkened and he tried to hide his face behind a hand. "I-It's just casual reading..."

Just as Bon was about to respond, he heard a door open and footsteps echo through a corridor behind him. Both boys stood as Dr. Rascalov entered the lobby. "I'm sorry to keep you two waiting," he apologized with a friendly smile.

The doctor was a very tall man with stunning white hair and contrasting bronze skin. He walked with an air of importance, as if constantly demanding attention. But...something about him also felt daunting and cold—like a shadow caused by a light falling on someone and casting a black imitation. Dr. Rascalov's very presence made Bon nervous, and he had no doubt it did the same to the other Exorcists that worked under him. Regardless, he did his best to be polite and smother his anxiety; he desperately wanted this internship, both for the valuable experiences that would come with it and the Exorcist License he would receive once his two months were finished.

"Let's see... Suguro Ryuji," he pointed at Bon, "and... Armand Auguste Angel, correct?"

"Yessir." Bon found himself staring again, suddenly seeing the similarities between Armand and the Paladin.

"Have you two introduced yourselves yet?" A tense, awkward silence followed the doctor's question. Dr. Rascalov sighed. "I suppose I can do the introductions this one time..." He gestured to the blond. "This is Armand A. Angel, nephew of our Paladin. He's from Seattle, Washington and currently holds the highest test scores—relative to Exorcists, of course—in the western US region." He then turned to Bon. "This is Suguro, Ryuji, son of the head monk from a temple in Kyoto. He has the highest scores in his class at the prestigious—and famous—True Cross Academy. He was personally selected from a group by Mephisto Pheles, head of the Japanese branch."

"Nice to meet you." Bon smiled and held out his hand. Armand hesitated and, after an unnecessarily long pause, shook his hand tentatively.

"Please try your best to get along," Dr. Rascalov continued, "you two will be working together in the White Room tomorrow. We'll start you off with easy, supervised tasks, but after a few days I expect you both to be able to handle yourselves. And, now that introductions are over, please follow me." He turned and paused. "Oh—leave your things here for now. You can retrieve them after your tour."

The doctor led them down the hall he had come from, their steps echoing ominously as they walked. Armand trailed slightly behind them, arms folded over his chest and gaze lowered to the floor.

Bon glanced around, noticing the gray walls were completely bare save for the occasional label beside a door. They lacked pictures, advertisements, business posters, windows, or any of the usual, colorful signs he had seen in similar buildings. The empty atmosphere made him feel cold.

Eventually, Dr. Rascalov came to a stop at a set of wide, double doors. He held his card up to the scanner and, with a faint _beep_, the doors hissed open, revealing a medium-sized cafeteria. Like the rest of the facility, the cafeteria's walls were bare—no posters or windows. Tables and benches were bolted to the floor, and _everything_ was gray, even the dishes and utensils.

Bon was afraid he wouldn't be able to recognize color by the time his internship was over.

A stout, overweight man in an Exorcist uniform stood up as they entered. He was old, somewhere in his late fifties, and was bald until just above his ears. Long, gray hair fell past his shoulders, pulled back into a low ponytail. A short, coarse beard covered his chin and most of his cheeks. He smiled brightly, eyes gently curving up, and seemed to waddle slightly as he walked over to them.

"Mornin' Doc. What's this? I thought there was gonna be four o' ya." He crossed his arms and raised a brow questioningly at the doctor.

"One of our other Scientists, unfortunately, backed out—and our second Exorcist should be arriving next week," Dr. Rascalov explained quickly. He then turned to Bon and Armand. "Boys, this is Torean Murray, a Senior Exorcist and the man in charge of organizing our internships. Torean, this is Suguro Ryuji and Armand Auguste Angel."

"Eh?" He placed a hand on his chin and inclined his head as he examined Armand. "Didn't know the Paladin had a kid."

"Nephew," Dr. Rascalov corrected.

Armand blushed from the attention. "I don't think he knows about me. I've never met him before..."

"Bah!" Torean waved a hand dismissively. "Dontcha worry, lad—we all got family members we don't know."

"There will be more time for you to talk later," Dr. Rascalov said firmly, demanding attention. "We'll take you on your respective tours and show you to your rooms. Be here by seven tomorrow morning for your assignments. Armand, with me, please." And with that, the doctor turned and left, quickly followed by the Paladin's nephew.

Bon stayed where he was and watched them leave, confused. "...Poor lad."

He glanced at Torean, who slowly shook his head. "Why do you say that?"

"Boys shouldn't be that pretty. The other Nerds are gonna tear him apart."

"Ah... Nerds?" Bon didn't know how to respond to that. Instead, he changed the subject. "Why are we being separated?"

"Doc has the facility's staff split in two: us and the Nerds. The 'people in white'—that's what the demons call 'em—are special Scientists researchin' new stuff for the Exorcist community." Torean rested his chin on a fist as he spoke. "I don't know all the technical details, so ya hafta ask yer pretty friend to explain that part for ya. They run tests on the demons in the city below. _Our_ job is to protect 'em while they work and keep the city in order—wouldn't want demons dyin' on us before we can get results." He paused to shrug. "It's easy work, all things considered, but we're understaffed, so expect to be runnin' back n' forth a lot."

Bon nodded in gratitude. "So the Scientists work above and the Exorcists work below?"

"Ya got it! Smart lad!" He clapped Bon on the shoulder, sending him stumbling forward. "C'mon, let's go." Torean took him by the shoulder he had patted, steadying him, and guided him out of the cafeteria. "First, we need to make a pit stop to fetch the King from Solitude."

"K-King!?" He had difficulty keeping up with Torean's quick stride.

"Aye—calls himself 'king of earth'." The Exorcist leaned over to mumble in his ear. "King of _assholes_ is more appropriate, if ya ask me!" He laughed heartily.

Bon let out a small, fake laugh, feeling terribly awkward as he followed the shorter man down another gray hallway.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Please forgive me if at any point Armand's character seems stiff or unrealistic. I usually spend a ridiculous amount of time with my characters, but Armand was sort of a last minute addition. I decided to split the scientists and exorcists while I was writing the prologue, so he hasn't had as much time to be developed as my other characters.

Also I hope 'unbelievably skilled in all five meisters' isn't too Mary Sue-ish. Demetri is one of the Grigori (which I guess automatically makes him overpowered) so I figured it would make sense that he be far more experienced than a normal exorcist.

HeeHee, sorry – I don't usually rant about my OCs like this, honest.


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